


Carpe diem - Seize the day

by UncleInTheField



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Confessions, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, i'm SOFT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 13:29:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19724623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UncleInTheField/pseuds/UncleInTheField
Summary: After stopping the world from ending, there is peace. But how long it can remain in peace is unknown, and unpredictable. Crowley has anxieties. And then revelations. And here comes confessions. (I'm really bad at giving summaries...)





	Carpe diem - Seize the day

**Author's Note:**

> #I can’t hold it…I just can’t…  
> #So here, you can have it.  
> #Thank you! And you’re welcome?

So…life goes on. Time goes on, the first day of the rest of their lives, along with all the following days.

However, no one has any idea how many days that would be.

Anathema would know, probably. After all, she is the one who processes her ancestor’s prophecies, the truths of the truths, the prophecies of prophecies. She should know, of course, until later on she revealed conveniently to Aziraphale and Crowley on their monthly check-up call that she burnt all the prophecies the very next day after the apocalypse, the Book, and a whole box of new manuscript Agnes left for her.

Maybe her burning everything is written in the prophecies too. After all the things Agnes had been right about, it’s not hard to believe that she’d seen that one coming too. But no one would know any more. All is burnt into ashes now, just like Agnes herself.

How cruel, and ironic?

Yes, of course, there should be peace for some time, you would say. Because an agreement has been made. A treaty, rather. Both lots from above and beneath have agreed that they would leave the both of them alone, out of pure fear, after seeing their stunt. Although they are foolish and easily deceived, Aziraphale and Crowley are not. They both know that it won’t be long for either of the sides to know how they pulled what they pulled. And once one side figures out, the other side is just a millimetre away. Not saying that they are equally intellectual or anything, but it’s just that Gabriel, or Michael, or Hastur, being the real wily snakes, will rat to one another as soon as possible.

The snakes do rat, don’t they?

And again, how ironic?

And once they figure out, the little fragile bubble of peace will shatter. And the real war will be at hand.

  
Being a kind and innocent - or naive as how Crowley like to describe - angel, Aziraphale is not too worried. Certainly he knows nothing is over yet, not even close. Crowley told him so. But at the same time, he is unsurprisingly optimistic about the situation. He thinks they still have some time to take a break, to figure it all out.

“It’s ineffable.”

He says to Crowley.

And Crowley wants to believe him.

But Crowley does not, having a dark soul as a demon would, if they have one. Yet Crowley does not bother to try and persuade Aziraphale to buck up and start preparing for war now. He knows that the angel needs this. He needs the time to breathe. It would be too cruel for him to poke him like this, even though all Crowley is is cruel, really. He is a demon, after all.

But Crowley just cannot bring himself to do this to Aziraphale. And besides, Aziraphale has always been optimistic, him giving Adam - the first one - the flaming swords, and agreeing with Crowley on their little morbid arrangement and all. Crowley believes that he did all these things out of his naiveness, optimism, and love (for humanity of course, Crowley does not think himself being in the mix at all, how obvious). These absurd sentiments of Aziraphale’s have gotten them this far, why not some more?

Crowley, on the other hand, denies himself having any possible sentiment at all. Although, he would make an exception for hatred, resentment, and anger, the principle qualities of a demon. He is a demon, in the end. But now come to think of it, not long ago he was holding hands with the Antichrist and an angel to fight against Satan, and next thing you know, they stopped Armageddon. What kind of demon does that make of him?

Crowley does not know anymore. Nor does he care, really. At this point, he is too busy thinking how the world will really end to care about anything else. And what does that matter anyways? All is going to end.

It’s ineffable!

Crowley is sulking again, contemplating the end of the world in his flat alone. And the session ends again, with himself thinking about this funny word “ineffable” while rolling his eyes so hard he almost feels they are going to pop out of their sockets.

However, this time, it is different. As the word ineffable scrolling across Crowley’s mind, Aziraphale’s voice speaking it starts ringing and rippling in his ears. Inevitably, Aziraphale’s face shows up in front of his eyes, along with flashbacks of himself standing in Aziraphale’s burning bookshop, desperate and heartbroken, thinking he had lost the most important person, and the only person that mattered in his unholy life.

**World ending = Losing Aziraphale**

This equation gallops towards Crowley and brakes right in his face, like he just ran into a huge raging stop sign. Unlike all the Stop signs Crowley has ignored in the history of his automobiling, Crowley is not going to ignore this one.

The worst consequence of him ignoring a Stop sign is no more than his body being discorporated, which Crowley does not give a rat’s arse. Before it will be troublesome to ask Beelzebub for another one, but now he has Adam, the Antichrist.

But losing Aziraphale is not the same. It is unbearable to just hear Aziraphale threatening him not talking to him ever again. How does Crowley cope with losing Aziraphale for eternity?

He simply does not.

It will be worse than jumping into a bathtub full of holy water.

Crowley cannot let that happen.

But how can he stop it from happening, him being an incompetent demon?

Crowley simply does not know.

But still, Crowley cannot allow that to happen!

Not right now!

Not until…

Until what?

Crowley asks himself, sinking into his luxurious armchair.

Not until he knows that I love him.

I love him.

The truth dawns on Crowley, like lightening, although Crowley does not know what it feels like to be struck by lightening. But it certainly does not feel like being burnt in boiling sulphur. That, Crowley knows, is just too much pain. But this, this does not give Crowley pain. This makes him all itchy within the rib cage, ticklish on the finger tips, fuzzy in his vision, and warm in his heart and brain.

It’s so beautiful that Crowley despises it as a demon. But at the same time, he loves it, because it’s Aziraphale.

He loves Aziraphale, and he loves it.

As we just demonstrated, Crowley is incompetent being a demon.

But it does not matter. It never mattered before. Right now all Crowley cares about is how to let Aziraphale know what he knows, and at the same time gather up some nerve to verify that Aziraphale feels the same.

Crowley is not stupid. And it’s quite elementary to deduct that Aziraphale has special feelings for him as well. But knowing himself by deduction is different from being told. And Crowley is determined, and terrified at the same time to find out.

But he has to find out. There is not much time left.

Carpe diem!

Seize the day!

Crowley pounds up from his chair as he recalls the words Aziraphale said to him, stifling a laughter in Rome at Petronius’ restaurant as Crowley reluctantly stuffed an oyster in his mouth.

That was the first, the only temptation his angel has tried on him. A slip of tongue.

Crowley feels like a proud mama.

This sounds wrong and sordid.

Crowley does not care. He is a demon after all. Crowley cannot tame the smirk on his face as he saunters out, headed for Aziraphale’s bookshop.

  
It has been a while after the incident at Tadfield Air Base. Aziraphale and Crowley have spent a lot of time together, a lot more than they had during the past thousands of years of their relationship. It makes sense, since neither of them have to hide it from anyone, and both of them feel the unspeakable urge to make sure each other safe at all times. Crowley almost miracled a brainwash on Aziraphale so that he would agree on staying at Crowley’s flat. But he did not in the end. It would not work out. But Crowley still regrets that he did not do it.

Up till now, they have had dinners at ritz, coffees at Berkeley Square, even picnics at some unnamed park, and countless wine (whiskey for Crowley) and cheese at Aziraphale’s bookshop.

Therefore, seeing Crowley leaning against his front door with a bottle of red wine in one hand and a box full of freshly made assorted brioches in the other, Aziraphale is not surprised. Actually he was thinking about calling him over just before he heard the door bell.

He had some unpleasant customers earlier. They were asking for the first edition of Hamlet. After being told that it’s not for sale, they still asked to take a look and appreciate. Aziraphale was touched by their deceiving passion and gave them the book. But they were fumbling through the pages carelessly. One has to know that this is THE first edition, the one that was handed to Aziraphale by Shakespeare himself as a thank-you gift after Crowley miracled a full theatre of audience. Of course Shakespeare did not know about the audience. But Crowley accidentally gave him insight on some narratives for his future work at the time. Aziraphale did not know, and still does not know, how Crowley came up with those words, but he was quite impressed. Crowley did not know either. He just felt he needed to say something smart to cover the fact that he tricked the angel to going to Edinburg.

After a few rounds of wine, mixed with some miracles of cocktails, accompanied by angel’s belly fulfilled with buttery buns, the topic of the conversation has become quite naughty.

“Can you tell me, for once sincerely, how many real temptations have you conducted in total during the past six thousand years?”

Aziraphale mumbles with his wine-thickened tongue, laughing and swaying his glass of wine carelessly.

“How…how am I supposed to remember? It’s been too long!”

Crowley says, heavy lidded, swinging his body a bit in the sofa across from Aziraphale, who is sitting in his worn armchair just a couple of steps away. Crowley is faking being drunk as persuasively as he can manage. It is hard for him to do so, being as nervous as he is now. But he also cannot be drunk now, not when he’s trying to make the biggest move in the world. All the whiskey he has consumed has been teleported to Mr. Witchfinder Sergeant Shadwell by miracle, who is working really hard on knocking on Madame Tracy’s bedroom door for the first time, and who is going to give a rather satisfying performance with the help of the alcohol. Too bad he does not know it is Crowley that he should say a big thank-you to.

“If I am allowed to make an educated guess…” Aziraphale says with a burp.

“You are allowed to do anything, angel.” Crowley cuts in with a smile on his face. Now he is just trying too hard and being pleading. It’s pathetic, but Crowley can’t help it.

Aziraphale mouths a silent aww, and bats his eyes sheepishly. Crowley’s heart melt, rhetorically of course. Can you imagine what a nightmare it would be if his heart really melted and he just spat blood and flopped on the floor, discorporated?

Silly.

“If I’m allowed to make an educated guess,” Aziraphale continues, “I would say you are just full of lies, Crowley.”

As Crowley throws up his hands to protest, Aziraphale raises his free hand and stops him, “in a good way, my dear! In a good way! although they are all lies, they are good lies.”

“Wow, fancy hearing you talk about lies are good, angel.” Crowley says with a slight upward bend of his lips and raises his eyebrows.

“I’m not saying lies are good, Crowley! Do not misread my words!” Aziraphale exclaims, “what I was saying, is that you are full of lies of destructions you claim you did, but you actually did not conduct those terrible things, because you are a kind…and…and good person! Therefore comparing to other lies people tell each other to achieve their selfishness, yours are good lies…and…and…”

Aziraphale is trying his best to demonstrate his thoughts in his foggy mind, but he is too drunk for that cause and eventually he gives up, and ends his declamation with his typical pouted lips, resting his chin in his palm, and looking at Crowley with his shiny, big, dewy eyes. It’s quite sinful, the way he looks at Crowley, giving him nothing but sinful thoughts, really.

And normally Crowley would be mad at what Aziraphale just said, about him being kind and good. But not this time, not after what Crowley has discovered himself earlier, not when Crowley has a mission in his mind. And also although Crowley would like to describe the way Aziraphale looks now as sinful, it’s in fact quite angelic. Crowley does not know how he should call the monsters above their heads, definitely not angels. But if he wants show some one what an angel really is, this is it. Aziraphale is it.

“You are full of good lies, Crowley…” Aziraphale repeats, dozing now.

Now is the time. If Crowley really wants to do it, to tell Aziraphale and to make sure his angel feels the same way. It’s time now. Although, if Crowley took a second thought, he might think the approach he’s about to take is kind of cheesy. But there is no time for that.

“Well, I’m not really full of lies. There is something that is true. Has always been true. And will always be true.”

As Crowley says it, he confirms it’s very cheesy, and probably at a bad timing too, as Aziraphale pries open his eyes and squints at him, vacant-minded.

“What?”

No, this can’t be happening. Crowley groans and snaps his fingers.

Aziraphale is sober now. And at the same time, in Shadwell’s arms, Madame Tracy becomes very intoxicated.

“Wait, what just happened?” Aziraphale bounces up and sits upright in his chair, eyes wide open, and a little bit startled.

Crowley overdid it, and now the angel is too sober.

Ah, the hell with it!

“Nothing,” Crowley shrugs and smiles, putting on his innocent masquerade. And he continues.

“I just said that I’m not full of lies.”

“Oh.”

Though still suspicious and confused, Aziraphale is taken aback by what Crowley just said and him being so serious. He cannot see through Crowley’s glasses and look into his eyes, but he can feel that Crowley is onto some serious business. Aziraphale blinks blankly and asks.

“What do you mean?”

Crowley is frustrated. He can’t do it. He’s pissed at himself at this point. And maybe mad at Aziraphale too. How can he tell him? And how does he not know? It does not make sense for Aziraphale to know though, as Crowley thinks of it, because he’s too cowardice to tell the angel, which makes him even more upset.

“What I mean is…”

“My point is…”

Now Crowley sounds drunk. But he’s not. He just needs to come up with the courage to say what he wants to say.

“There is something true…about me.”

It’s absurd. He is absurd. And from the way Aziraphale looks at him, Crowley is sure of it.

Oh, fuck it!

Carpe diem, then.

Crowley hears himself proclaim silently, and the next thing he knows, he’s on top of Aziraphale, straddles on his lap, hands cupping his head, his mouth on Aziraphale’s mouth.

Crowley is kissing Aziraphale. He, a demon, is kissing an angel. But most importantly, he is kissing Aziraphale, his best friend for six thousand years, whom he would drive through hell’s flames to get to, and whom he would die with side by side when the world is falling apart.

Crowley is shocked. He feels like crying, or he might explode with emotions.

Eventually Crowley survives and comes back to himself, and braces himself to look at Aziraphale. He missed the astonishment in the angel’s eyes a moment ago. What he sees now is that Aziraphale’s eyes are closed, as if he’s fully into kissing Crowley.

And he is.

Crowley feels Aziraphale’s tongue gently swipe over his lips, and without knowing it, Crowley complyingly opens his mouth. And then he feels Aziraphale’s hands on his hips, pulling him closer and closer, until Aziraphale’s completely reclining on the back of the armchair, and Crowley has to free his right hand to grasp on the headrest so that he won’t collapse into Aziraphale.

The kiss is long and fervent, but at the same time heartfelt and chaste. It might be hard to believe that for by the end both of them are panting very hard and basically grinding themselves into each other.

But truly, it’s just that the veiled feelings piled up for thousands of years burst out within one kiss. If there is a magical being that could convert all the love they have for each other into nuclear powers, the world would have ended quite a few times.  
Crowley finally comes back to earth and looks down to Aziraphale, who still has his head down, taking deep breaths, staring into the void somewhere between Crowley’s collar bone and crotch. Crowley does not know what to say, but he feels that he has to say something.

“That’s ma point.”

Well, that’s lame.

But at least it brings Aziraphale to look up at him. His eyes are glistening in the dim lights. Crowley would like to think it’s the reflection of the lamps, rather than tears. He’d hate his angel to cry.

“It’s quite unfortunate, actually,” Aziraphale sighs.

“Wha? This? Us?” Crowley asks, frowning. He feels like some one just stabbed him in the chest. He inhales sharply.

“No! Of Course not.” Aziraphale stares at Crowley, frenzy in his eyes. And then he sighs again, grievingly.

“Then what?”

“I just think it’s unfortunate to take six thousand years and almost an Armageddon for us to get here.”

Crowley purses his lips and and shrugs.

“At least we are here.”

Aziraphale looks up at Crowley again.

“You have to know this leads up to no good, Crowley.”

Crowley shrugs again, and smiles reassuringly.

“What are they gonna do if they find out? Try to destroy us, and start the war again? Meh, we’ve been there. Find something new.”

“You are astonishingly optimistic about this situation, Crowley.” Aziraphale says with a melancholy smile on his face.

“Funny. Before I came here, I was considering diving into a tub of holy water so I don’t have to lose you when the world ends again.”

“How dare you just say that, Crowley!”

Crowley thought it was a funny joke, but apparently Aziraphale thinks otherwise. Crowley beams and raises his hands, surrendering.

And here is his sigh again. Crowley looks at Aziraphale lowering his head, and looking up at him again. He waits. Crowley does not know what he is waiting for. He just feels that he needs to wait now.

And finally.

“I love you, Crowley.”

There it is.

“I love you too, angel.”

Crowley leans in and pulls Aziraphale into his arms, feeling his angel’s arms tighten around his waist. A sigh of relief escapes his chest.

“What now, Crowley?”

Crowley hears the angel ask.

“Carpe diem, angel,” Crowley says as he gets off the chair, holding Aziraphale’s hand, fingers intertwined, and leads him to where he thinks the bedroom is.

“Seize the day.”

—Fin—

**Author's Note:**

> #Thank you so much for reading this! I would really appreciate it if you’d be so kind to leave a comment!  
> #Thanks again! Hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
